


Our Green Palace

by orphan_account



Category: Bandom, Fall Out Boy, I Don't Know How But They Found Me (Band), Panic! at the Disco, The Brobecks
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Royalty, Anxiety, Bisexual, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, Forbidden Love, Gay, LGBT, M/M, P!ATD, Panic Attacks, Panic! at the Disco - Freeform, Royalty, Weed, brallon, patd - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-14
Updated: 2017-12-10
Packaged: 2019-02-02 10:37:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 19
Words: 21,249
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12724992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: Brendon Urie and Dallon Weekes.The consequences of being royal and forced to attend cricket sessions with a stranger prince.





	1. SHEEP

Brendon Boyd Urie. What a name for a prince.

 

What a name; what a life.

 

“Brendon, Prince, your highness, sir, could you please, my dearest, if its not too much trouble, it is time, good sir, that you please, please attend to the dining room,” is all I hear.

  
“Prince Brendon Boyd, Mr Urie Junior, sir, dear, please would you, please, good sir, sorry to trouble you, please pass the cranberry sauce.” Music to my ears.

  
“Brendon, I have confirmed with Sir Eltor, the owner of the private cricket courts for use of royalty that you shall be attending cricket practice every Tuesday, commencing tomorrow.” Rattling, screamo music, heavy, heavy guitars, nails scratching chalkboard. Music to my ears.

  
“Excuse me father Boyd?” I ask in the politest tone possible, in attempt to mask my underlying rage that must me seeping through the colour of my red, angry skin.

  
“I apologise, Brendon, I think you may have been misinformed. You are to begin attending cricket practice, starting tomorrow.” Misinformed? Yeah. Yeah, I was misinformed. I don’t have it in me for any more irritated sarcasm.

 

“Okay, father Boyd,” I reply to the king. King’s rules. Grin and bear it.

 

The second I exit and retire to one of my rooms, I drop that grin. In fact, I drop my whole body to the floor and allow water drop onto my cheek.

 

I’m trapped in this body.  
I’m trapped in this world.  
I’m trapped in this room.  
I’m trapped.

Even my heart’s trying to escape; it’s rattling against my ribs. I would have to try and hide the lack of surprise, should the day come that the two lines of bones collapsed and told me that they didn’t want to put up with such nonsense pain. I would understand. I'd tell my broken bones “I get it,” and continue to sniffle and shove tissues at my eyes until they go red and the skin surrounding becomes dry and flaky.

I’ve felt like this since the beginning of Middle School, also known as the place where I found myself, also known as the place of a few interesting people, also known as the place of a lot of uninteresting people. I’ve always known to escort myself to the rest room when this weird thing happens. I don’t understand it.

I only have one friend because I isolate myself. Everybody that isn’t of royal blood wants to be friends with a Prince. Well, everybody excluding Spencer Smith. That’s what intrigued me the most. He didn’t want to be my friend and wanted nothing to do with me. I could read it in his eyes, so when I was asked by the teacher to choose where I would like to sit, I chose the desk next to Spencer Smith of course.

It took a while to get him to befriend me, however it may have taken longer had I not always kept a persistent, hyper way of myself. He likes my excitability, it makes him smile, but at first, I had him rolling his eyes at me. Regardless, he likes me now and I make him far less moody. Sometimes, when he won’t snap out of it, I gift him a nickname. Something like ‘mardy-bum’ or ‘twisty-knickers'.

I can't get my breathing to slow down, despite allowing my mind to wonder to calmer memories. I must just go and sleep away the days.

When my head hits the pillow, I sigh. I trade all my mistakes for sheep, but I just can’t seem to count them. There’s a whole choral of sheep crying ‘baa’ out of time behind a damp wooden fence. When the gate opens, their perfect white wool meets the wood and discolours their locks - ruined already and we haven’t even got to the jumping yet.

Now to the fences, where everybody plays God and watches. There’s eight wooden fences of jumping height, all out of line with each other, wonky and all wrong. Why can’t I just jump into the scene and fix it? I need to, but I can’t.

All at once, the sheep come darting back into the scene, crashing into their hurdles and ramming into each other. As every second passes, more sheep arrive, making it a sea of screaming white pain, mess and panic.


	2. INTERROGATION

Let’s see who this likely pretentious, up his ass, born Prince of Greece guy is. “Dallon, Dallon Weekes,” he tells me as he shakes my hand with a firm grip.

 

“I’m Brendon.” I sigh and shake his hand back weakly.

 

We’re told to get in our ride so he gets in first and I follow. “I’ll be the one showing you everything,” I’m told quite vaguely, which I actually appreciate because I couldn’t care any less. “I know that you don’t care” he confronts me. Well, this is interesting.

 

"And how is that?” I ask him, quirking an eyebrow.

 

“How could I not know with the weakness of your handshake, and your sigh, and your attention focused on your _oh so interesting_ fingernails. And your vision averted towards the lower areas of the Earth, such as the ground.”

 

“I’m sorry, Sherlock Holmes.” I tut, hiding my slight interest in whatever he might have to say because he’s actually not quite the average spoken prince.

 

“I would prefer, if you were to refer to me as any intelligent book character, for it to be The Doctor.” Hmm. I don’t know whether I’m supposed to like him or not. “Don’t worry, I desire to play cricket just as much as you," he adds.

 

Dallon’s lucky that he timed saying that when he did, because the ride stops and we're soon being ushered out. Luckily, we’re both around the same age (me being almost fifteen), so we will not be needing any assistance to the building. I don’t need a manservant to follow me around and wipe my ass, thanks.

 

“How old are you?” I ask.

 

“I just turned fifteen last week, you?” he counters.

 

“I’m fifteen next month.”

 

He nods and I stand feeling quite awkward and out of place. I start to feel a tingling feeling at the pit of my stomach and speak to distract from it, “So… should we… start?”

 

“Oh, please,” Dallon rolls his eyes, but grins. “You know, we don’t _actually_ have to play cricket,” he says in a tone that sounds like he thinks its obvious.

 

“Um… but isn’t that what we’re here for?”

 

“No.” God, he’s confusing.

 

“No?”

 

“We’re here because our parents have forced us. Our emotionally negligent parents want to send us to some sports thing because, you know… it seems a bit like something they're sort of... obliged to do. They might even think we’ll enjoy it for all we know, but we don’t know. Therefore, if we don’t know about their opinion on the matter or much about what they’re thinking at all, then I’m certain that they won’t know that we aren’t playing cricket, so long as we attend.” I understood about 50% of that.

 

“Okay, I think I know what you’re saying,” I reply.

 

“Good,” he says. “So... tell me about you.” He sits down on one of the seats by the side and I do the same, seeing as we have a whole hour of nothing ahead of us, I may as well speak to him.

 

“I think you know all you need to know about me already. Who doesn’t?” I ask rhetorically.

 

“Well, actually, I want to know the actual person in you, not the stupid facts.”

 

“What is there inside me? I’m just a _fucking_ prince that lives in a palace in Albania with seven other princes and princesses, sipping away my dull, rich life with pear and elderflower flavoured sparkling water.”

 

“That’s bullshit and you know it. You’re already giving off the impression to me that you are unlike other princes with your foul mouth that I admire, must I add.”

 

This Dallon is quite nice, I think. “Thanks.” I laugh and wink.

 

“So, go on… what do you do with your, quote, ‘dull, rich life’?”

 

“Well...” I hesitate. “I play the flute, guitar, piano and drums. Although, my parents don’t know that I play the drums and I don’t feel like they would appreciate it if they found out.”

 

“They won’t find out,” he states simply.

 

“I know, I know.” Do I know? No.

 

He can read me like a book already, saying “Seriously, you wouldn’t believe the things I have kept hidden from my family.”

 

I’m intrigued, but I don’t want to make it seem obvious. I ask, “What do you do? With your… interesting life...” Shit, that sounded rude. “I didn’t mean for that to sound sarcastic, I’m sorry, you do actually sound really interesting," I rush out.

 

“Hmm... Lets just say, many things that I don’t think I’ll be telling you just yet. When I’m not doing _other_ things, I’m reading, writing or playing guitar. You and I actually have a few things in common, I think?”

 

“Yeah, that’s cool. Yeah, we do, I read and play instruments. I go to school too, so that’s where a lot of my time is spent. Are you home-schooled?”

 

“Yes, that’s why you have not met me before. I live here in Albania, too, but I was born Prince of Greece.” That makes sense.

 

“Do you have any siblings, then?” I wonder if he’s the only Prince.

 

“No.”

 

Wow. He’s the only Prince; an heir to the throne. What is he doing in Albania? I think that’s enough questions from me for one day; I don’t want to come across too persistent. This is a challenge. I wait for him to say something.

 

“I take it you don’t play sports then.” He looks over to the untouched equipment and I smile and shake my head. He smiles back and says, "Me neither."

 

“How long do we have left?” I ask, hoping it’s not too long because I’m running out of things to say. There’s only a certain number of things you can ask and talk about when you first meet a person until it becomes an interrogation.

 

He looks at his watch in a bit of surprise and says “two minutes” so we leave the building and go out onto the path by the road to wait to be picked back up.


	3. THE WEIGHT, THE BAND, THE WAIT, THE DUO

It’s been just about any regular week and I’m finally doing something outside of the palace that I want to. Spencer and I are setting up the two drum kits in the cellar of his house, ready to jam out together. He was the one to teach me the drums. I didn’t tell him I was worried my parents would find out because he would just find me and my little prince life pathetic.

When we're done, Spencer asks me, “I was wondering… do you want to learn a song and cover it together? You could play the guitar and sing and I could play the drums. What do you think?”

“Sure!” That sounds exciting. “Can we just jam out on the drums, first? I’ve been waiting all week.”

He laughs and says we can. He doesn’t even ask why I can’t just get drums myself with the money I’m rolling in because he probably knows that royal families are unappreciative of the art of drumming. Also, he doesn’t really give a shit about my ‘home’, which shows, as when we first planned to meet up outside of school, he insisted we go to his house instead. I definitely don’t find it a problem; I desire to be away from all of the bullshit as much as possible. It was the matter of persuading my mother and father that was the difficult bit, but I begged enough with my big, brown, glossy eyes and got what I actually wanted for once.

We jam out until Spencer wants to take a break. Without him, I would never stop. I’d just keep going, and going, and going, because I have _all_ the energy in me that I could ever need and _more_. He signals for me to follow him up to his kitchen.

“Do you want a glass of water?” I’m asked and I nod.

“Thanks,” I say when he passes it to me.

It’s odd being in a kitchen for me because I don’t have one - I don’t think. If I do have a kitchen, it’s not like this. I think we just have a room where all the chefs make our dinner. When I first saw Spencer’s kitchen, I was surprised at how large it was, however he and his family _are_ rather rich, so my opinion on kitchens might be a little biased.

Spencer’s mother comes into the room. “Sorry to disturb you both, I just came in to get a glass of cranberry juice!” She smiles at us sweetly.

“It’s okay mom,” he says and half-smiles back. I’m still getting used to this.

When his ‘mom’ is out of the room I ask him what song we are going to cover.

“I don’t know. You know The Smiths, right?” he asks back.

“Yeah, I guess we could cover a song by them, but I was thinking about maybe a song by The Band.”

“Ah, they’re cool. What song?”

“Maybe ‘The Weight?’” I love that song.

“Yeah! Hell yeah, let’s do ‘The Weight’.” This is amazing: I love being able to actually speak to people about things I actually _enjoy_ and not just the necessary.

  
“Awesome! Are you ready?” I ask maybe a little too eagerly.

"Okay, okay!” He places his empty glass down and chuckles.

I follow him back down to the cellar and pick up a guitar. Spencer doesn’t even play the guitar, but he still has four - it’s impressive. _I play_ and I only have seven. From what I know, he can play the drums, piano, xylophone and obviously the good ol' tambourine.

It takes me about three minutes to figure out all the chords to the song, meanwhile Spencer plays the vinyl recording of it and tries to figure out the rhythm for the drum. I know the lyrics already, so I needn't worry about that.

“You ready to try and put it together?” He asks.

“Sure, lets give it a go.” I say a little uncertain, beginning to doubt this will work.

He starts playing the drums first, just so it’s easier and so that we can stay at the same pace. He counts me in and I play the chords. We don’t have anything other than drums and chords right now, so I naturally just start singing to fill in the gap.

When we’re done I nod, impressed, and so does Spencer. “Man, you have an awesome voice!” I’m told.

“Really? Thanks.” I reply, surprised at this new information. I’ve never really sung in front of anyone before, so I wouldn’t know if I was any good.

“Has nobody ever told you that before?” He raises his eyebrows.

I shrug. “I’ve never had anybody to sing to.”

“Well, I feel blessed to be the first.” He smiles at me and I laugh.

“Should we run the song again, then?”

“Yeah,” he replies and gets back to the drums.

We play it the same again twice, until I suggest, “Hey, do you want to play the piano this time instead?”

“Okay, yeah. I’ll try. It might take me a little time to figure it out though,” he warns me.

I smile reassuringly and tell him, “It’s fine.”

I do slightly regret telling him to do the piano now because I’ve got to stop myself from being bored. My life seems to be one long quest to avoid boredom. Maybe I should just watch him and listen. Yeah, that’s a good idea.

He’s picking it up quite well, knowing what the notes sound like in his head already, I can clearly see. “Are you doing the notes _and_ the chords?” I ask and he nods, knowing I’m watching.

He takes another couple of minutes and finally grasps it. Now we try the whole song with the new instrument combination. He’s got a better sense of rhythm than me, so I’m the only one to nearly slip out of it.

It sounds pretty great. It’ll sound better once we’ve had more practice.

We can hear footsteps coming from the stairs and see Ginger pop her head round. “Brendon, your ride is here, honey,” I’m told.

“Thank you, Mrs. Smith,” I reply as I place the guitar back in its stand.

“You know you can call me Ginger!”

“Okay, thank you Ginger.” I smile.

Spencer follows me to his door, through his house and tells me to learn the riff from the introduction to ‘The Weight’ and I promise to him that I will. After all, what else am I supposed to do with my life?

We share our goodbyes and I mentally thank him for pulling me out of my misery. I’ve never been miserable around Spencer; he really is my best friend.

I get in the large car and watch the world pass me in silence, the same way I do with the weekend.


	4. BAD BUTTERFLIES

“Dallon.” I nod in greeting.

“Hi, Brendon,” he replies and we’re let into the limousine.

The door closes and now it’s time for a real conversation.

“How are you?” I ask politely.

“I’m good.” He says and nothing else. That’s a bit weird.

“So… looking forward to cricket?” I tease at both of us and wiggle my brows.

He smiles a little and says, “Oh yes, absolutely thrilled. I have a deep-rooted passion for cricket.” He seems like the sarcastic kind of guy, I’m learning.

We sit in silence for the rest of the ride because we don’t have much else to say. I’m hoping, with time, we'll find something to have conversations about. I remember him telling me that he liked to read and play the guitar, I think.

“So, are we just going to sit in silence for this whole hour or…?” he inquires once we’re in the building and alone. I could see this as him being rude, however I don’t because he’s only verbalising my exact thoughts.

I sigh. “I don’t know, what do you want to talk about?”

“Hmm," he replies. "Do you want to hear something fun?" he asks.

“Sure," I say. This better be good.

“You promise not to tell?” Heuses the tone of voice of a little child on purpose and I’m guessing its somewhere on the spectrum of sarcastic.

“Sorry, I don’t know about that. I might have to tell my teddy bear.” I join in on the joke.

“It’s okay, you would be too horrified to tell anybody, I’m sure.”

“Oh, come on now, you’re building up all this anticipation.”

“The secret is…” he pauses, “I don’t have one.”

“You absolute twat.”

“You still like me.” He says, and makes me stop to think. Do I? Do I like him? I don’t know.  
-

I look up to the carved, Jesus patterned ceiling above me and my lying body and think. Dallon confuses me. I’ve only met him twice, but I think he’s quite the person. He’s got so many secrets, I know, but with such a tall, great figure and hair, he could get away with it.

We don’t have much to talk about other than music and books, but as I always say to myself, what else is there in my life? He’s not letting me in, not just yet and that’s why there’s a lack of conversation. Give it time and I’m sure he’ll find the exact way to tell me something. Something interesting.

I’m not foolish enough to attempt counting sheep any longer. I’m the type of fool to hum myself “Moonlight Serenade” until I finally fall into blackness.

The lyrics unintentionally read in my head.

“I stand at your gate, and the song that I sing is of moonlight.  
I stand, and I wait  
For the touch of your hand in the June night.  
The roses are sighing  
A moonlight serenade.”  
-

I don’t know how, but it’s the fifth time Dallon and I are meeting together already and I’m telling him things that I have told no other.

“Have you ever had anxiety?” he’s now asking me, and it’s so random, but I don’t care.

“I’m going to be honest with you… I’ve heard of it once or twice, but I don’t really know what it means.”

“Okay. So, have you ever heard of the saying ‘butterflies in my stomach’?”

“Yeah, why is that what it is? I thought anxiety was a bad thing.”

“Well, it’s a bit more like butterflies you don’t want and can’t get rid of.” He explains and it sounds somewhat familiar.

“Yeah, I get that.”

“And its not just that. You might worry a lot, you may even not, but you’ll experience the symptoms still, so it could be underlying anxiety. The other symptoms are things like feeling like you’re not here and like things aren’t real, and then there’s things like hyperventilating, feeling like you’re trapped, thinking you’re going to die, or faint, or pass out, your throat closing up, and the most obvious one: crying.”

“I-I think I have anxiety.”

“I think so too.” What???

“I’m sorry, what?”

“Look.” He begins, oh God. “I’ve only known you for five weeks, one hour at a time, but I’m actually quite worried about you. You just… show signs. You’re a really great person and I hate to pry, but someone needs to help you.”

“I appreciate it that you care, really. In fact, thank you. But, what the hell am I supposed to do about it?” Cure me please.

“Ah, now this is where my little secret comes in.” he looks at me and it pisses me off how much he teases me and makes me want to know more. He’s like a God damn novel. I look at him and wait for him to just say it. I’m not playing his game. “Weed.” He says.

“Seriously?” I raise my eyebrows. That’s pretty crazy.

“I swear, it does wonders for anxiety.” I’m told.

“So, have you ever had anxiety?” I ask him, now.

“Mildly, yes. Trust me, it helps.”

This is all brand-new information for me. All I have ever been told about drugs is the same old annual lecture in a formal assembly on how drugs are dangerous and, to sum up, kill you. Clearly that’s bullshit because I’m being told by a fifteen-year-old prince that he smokes weed to get rid of his anxiety.

“Look, I’m not saying drugs are good because most of them aren’t, but weed will make you feel amazing. Next week I’ll bring some.”

Wow, arrangements are being made quite fast. I’m not saying no. My life is boring: I’m a just-turned-15 prince from Albania with trillions of brothers and sisters and nothing to look forward to other than school. “Sweet!” I say, looking forward to Tuesday more than ever. Then I remember, I’m seeing him on Saturday evening for my birthday celebration.


	5. CRACKS IN THE BALLROOM

My eyes are burying themselves, searching deep into the cracks of the marble on the ballroom floor. I wonder what glitter and dust remains engrained in tiny dents of the glossy floor. There are dents that only I can see. Beneath hundreds of feet, there lies particles in which I’m certain that nobody had bothered to think about. The floor, formerly the ground, formerly Earth is the reason we are here, but nobody is stood here thinking about the floor.

Just when I stop to consider whether that metaphor applies to me in this moment in time, Dallon lifts my chin and helps my eyes to greet the setting, but this time, the real setting. The rawness of reality. “Hey” he whispers reassuringly as if to tell me it’s okay and I feel a little something. I don’t know what. Maybe it’s the feeling of gratitude that another human acknowledges me and cares.

It’s not that I want all eyes fixated on me in this room. In fact, I don’t want any eyes on me in this room because the ‘me’ that they’re looking at is their own painted portrait version of me, suited to their vision. Nobody knows me apart from Spencer and Dallon

“What do you want to do?” He asks me, filling in the silence that’s somehow there above the music in the background, muffled in my mind.

“I don’t know. I’m sorry you had to come.” I apologise, although I was not the one to invite him and I was not the one to plan for this gathering.

“I think you want to have some fun.” He tells me. Oh really? Do I really give off the impression that I want to have fun? To be perfectly honest, I feel like I could just sit and gaze at my shoes and let myself fill up with sadness like a little sad balloon. 

“And how’s that going to happen?” I ask, considering the benefits of that to my mental health and life in general.

“Come with me.”

I follow him and he takes me over to the table consistent of an array of alcoholic beverages in crystal glass jugs above an intricate white lace tablecloth. He takes two glasses for us and tells me to close my eyes. I wait, unsure whether he’s going to tell me when to open them again, or exactly why I am to shut them. I feel the rim of a glass slowly touch my lips and pry them open so I do and Dallon carefully pours a sweet, but tangy liquid into my mouth. It runs down my throat and I feel a very mild burn.

“Guess the drink” 

I open my eyes. “Crack Baby?”

“How on earth did you guess?” I’m asked in utter shock.

“I’ve smuggled a few cocktails in my time” I reply.

“Far out!” He manages to say in still the most aristocratic voice. “My turn, surprise me.” He closes his eyes. Oh, I’ll surprise him.

I manage to suppress a laugh as I do the evil of mixing two cocktails together. I find myself wanting to laugh and giggle and chuckle even more as I near his lips. Suddenly my heart rate’s quickening. I’m sick in the head. I could actually kiss him right now.

No, Jesus, the alcohol. It must be the alcohol getting to me already. Dear God. That cocktail must work in thirty seconds.

I rush to put the glass to his lips, forget everything.

This is so much fun. He squirms as I pour the drink down his throat and finally I can laugh. “What on earth was that poison?” I laugh more. “Did you mix!?” I give him a sly Devil’s grin and he whispers “You mixed! How dare you.” He deadpans and I look him straight in the eyes and we remain contact for multiple seconds until he cracks, rolls his eyes and grins even though he doesn’t want to.

“Oh, hey,” I begin “do you want to play a game of Rummy?” I suggest.

“Okay, sure.” He nods and I find the pack of cards placed on the table earlier, knowing I’d resort to them at some point in the night.

We find a table amongst many others occupied by people I most likely haven’t even met before. If I have, I haven’t bothered to remember their faces. Why should I? They make no significance in my life. Just smile and be polite like I always am.

-

Dallon stayed in one of our guest rooms last night, as my parents would like to meet him for whatever reason. I don’t understand why they’re acting as though they care.

Despite my foul language, cynicism, lack of care for the world and atheist beliefs, I’m apparently a good Catholic boy whom attends church every Sunday with his mother, father, and siblings. It’s just about the only time we spend together: the forced times, such as dinner and church.

When Dallon and I cross paths in the morning, getting ready to attend Church, I share a quick exchange of conversation for reassurance.

“Please promise me you’ll try and make an impression on my parents” I plead because I don’t want them stopping me from going to play cricket. Oh, the irony. Oh, but the lack of irony, too.

“Do you think I’m foolish enough to do otherwise?” He counters and I shrug because he has a point. He pats my shoulder twice and winks as we go our separate ways to continue getting ready.

When Dallon and I sit ourselves down on a pew, I look across the whole church and find that we were the last to join and that everybody else is here. The service begins.

-

“So, Dallon? Is that your name, dear?” My mother asks over the table of rich foods and leaves me in a bit of surprise. However, I shouldn’t be surprised, because what else was she to do? Ignore his presence?

“Yes, Mrs. Urie, your majesty.” He replies. It’s going well. It’ll be fine.

“It’s an honour to meet you, Dallon.” It’s fine, it’s fine. I don’t feel like I’m going to vomit all of the olives and cheese and bread and meat I have just consumed.

I take a slow sip of water and look towards Dallon for no reason. I guess he’s a little more appealing to the eye than some.

He notices my glare and sends a smile.

Monday will go fast as lightning, as usual. Then it’ll be Tuesday.


	6. GREEN AND A GENTLEMAN

He’s pulling out a transparent, sealed bag with something green in it and I would be a fool to not know what that is. He really did bring the weed. “I brought a lighter and paper to roll it in too.” He informs me and is now pulling them out from the inside pockets of his jacket he’s wearing over the cricket uniform.

I sit patiently, humming a song to myself while he rolls a joint. 

He’s finished rolling it and is now lighting the stuffed cylinder of paper that hangs between his lips. He takes a drag and passes it over to me. I’m more excited than apprehensive, so I take it and put it into my mouth, using my cynicism as justification to me behaving so outrageously.

I cough and splutter a little and Dallon laughs and laughs because, really, its really that funny. “Fuck you” I tilt my head and squint my eyes at him playfully, hiding the embarrassment that shouldn’t even be feeling because, cut me some slack, It’s my first time.

“You’ll get used to it” he laughs some more as I pass it back to him.

We take it in turns passing the joint backwards and forwards and I can’t stop giggling. He’s taking the last drag right now and I watch him as he places it between those two pink lips that belong to that tall, handsome body.

What the fuck?

I’m not a faggot. I’m drunk all over again, clearly.

Let me just…

My face is on his, my breath is his. I move my lips in sync with him. I can’t even think right now, just keep moving my mouth and my tongue. Trace the inside of his mouth to get every last drop of him. Push further and further. Attack him, like he has attacked my brain for these past six weeks. Both are good attacks, they’re so good. I feel so good kissing him that I can’t stop and it’s so illogical. It’s better than any other time I’ve made out. All those times with Audrey when I didn’t really feel a thing I’m now understanding, and it’s frightening.

“That was my final secret.” he says breathlessly when I pull away.

“I didn’t know I even had that secret.” I tell him, feeling quite unsure.

“Look at me,” he commands and I do so. “when you look at me, what do you see?”

I see a mystery that I just solved. Some mysteries I think should be left a mystery. I’m not sure if I should have solved this one. “I see something beautiful that I’ve never seen before” God damn it, the truth needs to just fuck off for a second and leave my mouth alone.

“And do you know what I see when I look at you?” I don’t want to know. I don’t want to fall in love. I can’t. It’s dangerous. He tells me anyway, “I see someone beautiful and fallen. Someone I want to help up.”

Cold tears run down my burning face. I know the weed is getting to my emotions, but I’m so overwhelmed by Dallon saying this that I’d still shed a tear not under the influence.

“It’s okay.” he reassures me and takes my hand. Little steps to this relationship, little steps.

I compose myself and start giggling again. “You need to get high more often, this is hilarious.” He sounds amused.

“I want to!” I tell him enthusiastically. 

“How about we make this a Tuesday thing?” He suggests and I nod quickly and widen my eyes. He’s finding this so funny. I’m just having a good time. “Sweet. I’ll figure out a way to make it easier to bring it. Maybe I should bring a load one day and store it somewhere here.”

“Where can we keep it that nobody’s going to find it though?” 

“Let’s have a look.” he says and pulls me up from the floor. I scan the room and just see a load of cricket shit we don’t even use and not much else. My vision is slightly altered right now thanks to the smoke.

He must have seen something or somewhere because he’s pulling my arm, taking me with him. We get to the other side of the court and are greeted by a door saying ‘no exit’. Dallon shrugs and pushes the bar to the door and find that the area seems untouched. Our luck is impeccable.

There are two large metal dustbins, clean and not used. He looks underneath them so I do too and there’s just plain ground below where the big box is lifted slightly by wheels. “Jackpot!” he exclaims and I give him a high five. I’m incomprehensibly excited at this moment in time.

-

 

By the time I arrive back at the palace, I’ve just about come down and it’s six in the evening.

I walk inside alone and allow myself up to my closet room to change my attire to conform to dinner. The array of clothing I’m confronted by makes it difficult to chose. I have so many shirts and jackets and suits and ties and blazers and everything a prince could ever need. I take pride in my appearance and actually have quite an interest in cosmetology, too. I had to resort to something with all of the time on my hands.

I take out a plain white shirt that’s quite tight fitting and find dark brown trousers and a beautiful russet shaded tie to accompany. I feel complete.

When I reach the dining room I hesitate, thinking maybe they might sense something on me. Who am I kidding, I have seven brothers and sisters. It’s not like I’m going to be the centre of attention for more than two seconds.

“Hello, Mother and Father.” I greet my parents when I reach the table. After saying my piece and faking my smile to them, I pull the wooden chair back carefully, trying not to make a big scene with the noise and sit myself down.

Once the last of the family missing arrives, we all tuck into our dinners of beef and steamed vegetable stew. 

I remember when my sister, Kayla, shared that she would like to be vegetarian and believes that killing animals is wrong. That must have been one of her biggest regrets. Father Boyd did not react well, bellowing at her in his huge voice about how foolish she was and that he could not believe they shared the same blood. He punished her by forcing her to attend church after school every single day for a week and to apologise to God when she gets to the page in the bible where it justifies man eating mammal.

I am the last of us to finish eating, so when I finish, Father Boyd tells us we may be excused.

Meanwhile I wait for the food to settle in my stomach, I go down to the library and find myself a new book. I feel like reading a Chuck Palahniuk book. Fight Club sounds like a good choice. A classic.

I take the book to my room and read for about an hour.

I can feel my eyes straining and it’s only nine ‘o’ clock. I’m so exhausted and I didn’t even play cricket. Who am I kidding, I don’t play cricket. I play gay. I’m too tired to even confuse and hate myself for that right now. That, and the calming aftermath effects of the marijuana I’m experiencing. Dallon was so right, weed makes you feel amazing.

I lay on my back, staring at Jesus and sigh contently. I’m slowly falling, falling, falling-

Falling asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally, the chapter I know you've all been waiting for. *happy sigh* Amen.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying this story so far. I think this may be the most I've ever dedicated to a fanfiction. I continuously write for it and I love it.
> 
> Maybe leave a kudos/comment as a way of letting me know you like it too!
> 
> \- Nicole x


	7. BANDING TOGETHER

“Our music together is getting really good, you’ve got to admit.” I tell Spencer over lunch in the canteen.

“I know, I really think we should go further with it.”

“How so?” I ask. I can’t think of any way we could go further and why we’d need to. It’s not like we need money or a real career, especially not in music.

“I think we should start a band.” He suggests and I consider this for a second. Why not?

“Okay, you know what, let’s do it!” This is so exciting.

“Awesome! But, who can we get to join?” Ah, I clearly didn’t put much thought into that.

I stop to think. Who could we get to join? It’s times like this that I might regret isolating myself by always thinking ‘fuck everybody’. Who do I even like in this high school?

I like Dallon. I like him a lot. God he’s so hot and amazing and caring and… he plays music! I’ll suggest it to Spencer and pray that he considers it. 

“Okay… I know a guy. He’s such an amazing dude, I swear. I’ve known him for a little while now and he’s told me that he can write, play bass guitar and the piano a little too.”

“Ooh. Interesting.” Spencer’s searching my face. Why is he searching my face? “So, tell me more.”

Is this interrogation or genuine mild interest in having a new band member?

“I hope you don’t mind, but… he’s a Prince.” His face drops. “But not the arrogant, dull kind of Prince!” I rush.

He sighs, “What’s his name?”

“Dallon. Dallon Weekes.”  
“Okay. We’ll see. Tell him to come round mine on Friday at the same time that you usually do and give him my address.”

“Thank you!” my eyes widen with gratitude. This means more time with Dallon! More than just Tuesday. I get to see his musical ability too, which is exciting.

-

“So, that means we would be a band?” He asks and blows out smoke.

“Yes, if it works out. I have no reason to believe that it won’t,” I tell him hopefully, “so what do you say?” I give him pleading eyes. I’ve been using these eyes a lot lately.

“Well, if you’re going to look at me like that, then of course.”

“Oh my god that’s amazing!” I kiss him feeling everything. Excitement, energy and even happiness. I can’t help myself. He smiles when I pull my face away from his, pleased to make me feel this way.

I give him the details and look forward to Friday. I always look forward to Friday, and this time I think I do a little more.

-

As Dallon and I walk up to the steps to Spencer’s home, I quickly warn Dallon that Spencer might take a little time to warm up to him, due to his dislike to royalty. Dallon just nods understandingly and I silently thank him for that.

I knock three times and Ginger comes to answer shortly after. I introduce the two of them to each other and they both play it cool. It’s all going smoothly.

“Spencer is down in the cellar already, so you boys can just join him there. Dallon, Brendon will lead you the way.” We’re informed by Spencer’s mother.

We take the steps down to the cellar and come to find Spencer sat reading a book on music theory of some kind. As soon as we walk into the room, Spencer lifts his head and says “hey”. He comes over to give me some form of friendly, almost-hug and shakes Dallon’s hand. Time for more introductions.

“Dallon, this is Spencer. Spencer, this is Dallon.” Easily done. I’ve told enough about one to the other on both sides in private.

“Nice too meet you, Dallon.” Spencer says harmfully.

“You too.” Dallon smiles back.

Before things can get awkward (because I completely do not allow awkwardness in my life), I say “So, Dallon you play bass. Do you want to show us a few things you can do?”

“Sure, pick a song.” That’s a bit of a vague answer. Meet Sir. Dallon Weekes, Prince of Confusion in Others.

Spencer’s all up for challenging Dallon, I’m sure. “Another One Bites The Dust, Queen” he requests.

“Sure. Can I get a guitar?” Dallon gestures to the rack of guitars.

“Yeah” Spencer nods.

Dallon takes one of the two bass guitars and plugs it in. He finds a couple of the notes first, just making sure its in tune. Then, he starts playing. For an instrument that can be so simple, he manages to make it much more interesting and complex.

He finished and Spencer nods again, raising his eyebrows and smiling. He’s impressed and so am I. “That was great!” he compliments Dallon and I agree.

“So… how many songs would you say you know?” Spencer is now asking.

“Countless.” He admits, “A hell of a lot.”  
Now’s my chance to ask “Do you know ‘Panic’ by The Smiths?”

He nods. That’s handy, because Spencer and I are learning to cover that one at the moment.

“’The Weight’ by The Band?”

He nods again. Brilliant.

“Karma Police by Radiohead?” It’s a fairly new song right now, but Spencer and I love it.

“Somewhat” he replies and that’s good enough.

“Okay, let’s run through those three!” I say wanting to get right into it and use all the time that we have.

We play the first two songs without a fault and it feels so good. With Karma Police, I have to get the other bass guitar and play through it with Dallon a few times. I mess up a little too, so Spencer’s now going to get the record from his room.

While we’re alone, just the two of us, I take this as a chance to ask him if he’s enjoying himself too because my perspective may be different.

“Yeah, I am. Are you?” He says and I’m glad.

“Of course I am!” I reply enthusiastically and straight after, Spencer comes back, ‘OK Computer’ record in hand.

When he plays it, I recognise where I was going wrong and go straight back to correct myself when its finished. Dallon then mirrors. “Do you think you’ve got it?” I ask him and he nods, telling me he’ll give it a go, so I go back to piano and vocals. It would be good if we had another guitarist.  



	8. A CASUAL AFFAIR

Here we are, kissing in the back of a limousine. 

He’s the most charming person I have ever met, yet he’s considerably the worst influence possible. That’s exactly why he’s a mystery. To be charming, you have to be dangerous, but careful. Charming people never get caught and that’s probably makes them so fucking admirable.

Mysteries pull you in; entice you. 

I’m so intoxicated and I can’t get him out of my hair, quite literally. I can’t stop coming back to kiss him because I love the feeling of having his hands tangled in something that’s mine. It’s knowing that he’s really there and just as caught in this as I am. Most importantly, he makes me feel safe in the most dangerous thing that I could be doing: loving a man and doing drugs, which to be honest are the same thing.

The Dallon Drug is pulling away and I manage to prolong for just one more second. Every second counts. The vehicle pulls over to the side and, I must say, his timing is impeccable.

We allow ourselves out and keep a safe distance between us before the chauffer gets any genius ideas. 

When we get inside, Dallon goes straight out the back to get the weed and I sit myself down. He comes over and hands me a joint. I don’t hesitate to light it straight away because I’m in love with the stuff.

“So, what have you been up to?” He asks as usual as if I had anything interesting to say.

“Um… I mean… I’ve… Been to school…” I laugh, “How about you?”

“Meh, same as usual. I actually brought with me some of the songs I’ve written, in case you wanted to read them.” He suggests and I nod, so he goes into his useless bag of cricket shit and fishes out a black notebook.

I try to open it with one hand, with the joint in the other, but that seems to be a bit impractical, so I pass the joint to Dallon and he chuckles at me.

I’m flicking through pages and pages of lyrics. They’re detailed, daring and defiant – three ‘d’ words to describe the man, Dallon, himself. My eyes highlight the best of them, including “She doesn’t leave makeup after her kiss”, “and who will be the witness for the solitary host? The visitation of the ghost”, “I feel the poison in my veins, corrode and eat away my brain”.

“Dallon, these are beautiful, beautiful lyrics.” I tell him, “They’re crazy, but that’s exactly what makes them so… God, I can’t even think of the right word.”

“Yeah, marijuana has been proven to effect articulation skills when high.” He laughs dismissively and what I think might even be passive self-deprecation. He’s not getting away that easily. He will take my compliment, whether he likes it or not.

“What do you think about making music to accompany the lyrics with Spencer and I? We can only cover so many songs before it’ll get boring.” I tell him truthfully, because I’ve been thinking, and what is a band without their own songs? A tribute. We’re better than that. Another thing is, I get bored easily.

He stops to consider this and think about it, which I’ll let him. However, it’ll be a bit of a waste if he doesn’t want us to work on his lyrics.

“Okay, sure” he smiles easily.

“Thank you!” I say.

“Do you write songs?” I’m asked and I don’t really know how to answer that.

“Well… I have made my own melodies and chord patterns with the guitar and piano and sang quite mindless words along that fitted. But, I wouldn’t say I write songs, I guess. Not in a lyrical sense, really.” Whether or not that made sense, I have no clue. Cut me some slack, I’m high.

“Do you want to try and write one together right now?” He suggests because this guy is always full of ideas. I genuinely wonder where he gets them from.

“Hell yeah!”

He turns to a fresh page and takes a pen out of his bag. “So, what’s on your mind?” He asks because a song isn’t going to appear from nowhere.

“Weed and you.” I tell him as simple as it is.

“And what do you have to say about me and weed, then?” He’s smiling at me and God damn it my eyes are being taken to his lips again, so I place my lips onto them. I breathe him in and he smells like honey.

“I don’t know what you’re doing to me. I feel insane. I feel like I’m having an affair on my own life.”

“That’s an interesting way of putting it. Maybe we could use that idea as an extended metaphor for the song. We could use how our relationship and things associated with it can relate to the metaphor of an affair.”

I nod to let him know of my approval. 

“And how do you feel right now, Mr. Weekes?” its my turn to ask.

“Pretty casual” he winks.

The cog works are turning in my mind. How can we link ‘casual’ to ‘affair’?

“Hey!! A casual affair!” I exclaim all of a sudden.

“What, is that like the title or a lyric or…” he asks and I actually have to think because I don’t know what my intention was. It just sounded right.

“Make it the first line.”


	9. PURE, RAW, LOVE BEFORE THE SHADOWS

The first thing I have to tell Spencer in our free period is about Dallon’s songs.

“Did you bring any to show me?” Spencer asks and I immediately get out my copy of the song we wrote yesterday.

“Dallon and I wrote this one together last night.” I tell him as I hand it to him and he reads it through a couple times. 

“These are really good lyrics. But, what is it really about?” I understand why he asks because he knows that I haven’t cheated on anybody. As far as he’s concerned, I’ve never been in love and I’ve only been forced into relationships with princesses.

“Well, it’s not about an actual romantic or sexual affair, but it’s more so about when you do something forbidden or against morals and how it compares to an affair. Like, it also kind of feels like when you do something bad, you feel like you’re having an affair on yourself and your family. I don’t know, it was just an extended metaphor.” I really hope that didn’t come out as a pointless, misunderstood ramble because that’s what it sounded like to me. It sounded right in my head, but out loud I have doubts.

“Wow, that’s deep shit. Awesome.” He doesn’t know how reassuring he is. I feel a little more breath in my chest.

“So, what do you think about making our own songs, then?”

“Sure, we can give it a go this Friday.”

-

“Right, lets start with the drums with this song.” I tell the guys.

“Okay. I think we should make it quite fast-paced with a lot of beats, to make it actually feel like you’d feel when you’re having an affair. What do you think?” Spencer suggests.

“Well, just show us, first.” I say.

He starts playing with not much of a pattern at first, but with time he carries on trying out different beats. I find Dallon’s notebook to flip through more of his lyrics to read them in more detail this time. My eyes find ink telling me “and you conjure up a fiction to get the pretty girl to listen”. Maybe he likes boys and girls. A lot of his lyrics are about girls, but maybe that’s just him being cryptic and replacing the gender pronouns in case somebody finds his lyrics. God, if he got caught. I guess it’s fine as long as he knows in his head that those songs aren’t about ‘she’s and ‘her’s.

Suddenly, I hear a perfect beat for the song. “Spencer, wait! Do that one again” I quickly interrupt before he tries a new one.

He does it again and it’s the one. I look at Dallon for approval and he nods.

-

Over our trays, holding plates of cod and peas, I ask Spencer how he thought last night went.

“I think it went really well. I can’t believe we made a whole song in just a few hours! We should make some more.”

“I agree.”

-

“Oh my God.” I tell him, after having a realisation while he was getting the weed.

“What? Are you okay?” He asks concerned and it just makes the feeling I have right now even stronger.

“No. We’ve made four songs together now. We’ve spent hours and hours with each other. We’ve been meeting every Tuesday for the past two months and you fucking know what? I’m in love with you. I love you. Dallon, I love you so much, you don't understand, oh God.” I rush into his arms and he takes me in. I cry. 

“Brendon, you know, that’s a good thing,” he tells me as he smooths my back down with his hand slowly, calming me down “because I, too, love you.” He pulls me out of our hugging embrace and into one where our lips connect and hearts align.  
I put every piece of me into this because I need to prove how strong I feel about him. The feeling of somebody loving the purest and rawest form of you, does not come close to anything else. Maybe we’re looking way too far into the whole meaning of life pursuit. The whole thing could be right in front of us, but sometimes a little difficult to reach.

Everything we do is for our feelings. We do things to feel things and when we feel things we do things. I’m kissing Dallon because it feels good. It feels good because I’m in love with him.


	10. CUT COTTON

We’re dancing on a thin line here. Dancing on silver lining. Kissing on silver lining. Loving on silver lining and it’s dazzling.

“I love you so much, you don’t understand.” I told him yesterday and he expressed to me that he does understand and that he loves me too. It’s a feeling of which I thought I wouldn’t even understand if I ever finally felt it. 

When the chemicals and the smoke reside in me, I go slow. I take his hand with delicacy, lace my fingers in his and do the same to the other. Then, I bring both our joint hands up together and back him up against the wall with the tiniest steps, making it last for infinity. I card my fingers through his hair and I feel myself melting. 

I place my plump lips onto his and the action rolls in like the film for a camera being gently unravelled.

Someone’s got cotton scissors and cut my last thread of hope. The line goes from silver to grey and the colour of my vision mirrors.

“Brendon Boyd Urie, you are an absolute disgrace to this family and to God. Consider your role as Prince of Albania deceased. The same goes for your role in this family.” My stomach drops.

“Excuse me Father Boyd, I don’t understand.” I quiver. What is happening? Please, God, please just tell me why my father is disowning me.

“You,” He’s fuming, “you disgust me” He spits and causes me to shiver. “You. You. YOU FAGGOT. Get out of this room right now.” Oh my God.

Oh my God.  
Oh my God.  
Just oh my GOD.

No.

I run and don’t look back.

I run to the only telephone of the house and call Dallon’s castle.

His butler answers and tells me Dallon is out of reach at the moment and won’t be of reach from the castle at all for much longer. He’s been found out too. If I got caught then of course he did. I feel so sick right now that I’m going to bile my organs.

-

A man in a business suit is approaching Dallon and I.

“Hello.” He greets us with an unreadable expression. “I’m here on behalf of both of your families. There has been a great deal of discussion on how this situation is to be addressed and there has been a final decision made.”

I can’t speak. I haven’t spoken for two days. Dallon asks for me, “That decision being…”

“The two of you will be payed to change your appearances and move to the United States of America. Everything will be taken care of and you will have money. Passports and identification will all be sorted and you will still go by the same names, but as citizens of the US.”

Dallon and I look at each other. “I honestly don’t even mind.” He says, “Think about it, we get a chance to live lives that we want and we can be together. It’s exactly what we’ve been dreaming of.” I wasn’t expecting his optimism. I think for a second and he’s right. It will be terrifying, no doubt, but he’ll be by my side.

I nod because I still can’t form words. We’re given one day and then we’ll be out of here. 

The second the door to my bedroom closes, I fall to the floor and lukewarm tears find themselves falling against my burning cheeks. The boy I fell in love with comes straight down to pick me up and sit me on the edge of my bed. The tears keep crashing against my skin and I want them to. I want to just cry for eternity. It seems to me that’s what I’ve done in my life so far.

He rubs my back. “Take a deep breath, Brendon. I know it really doesn’t seem like it, but you’re safe. I’ve got you.” He tries to reassure me but it’s no use. I can’t buy it when I’m not in the safety of my pre-planned life. Fate left me today, just like my ability to breathe normally.

“What if we don’t make it out there? What if we stick out like sore thumbs? What if we’re caught? What if we don’t make shit and we lose all of our money? What if-“

“’What if?’ – a common phrase used when catastrophically thinking, which is irrational and unnecessary. Stop and breathe, else you will make this worse for yourself.” Dallon’s telling me in an earnest tone.

Everything’s so blurry and I can’t keep my eyes fixed on one spot. I try to make out his face, but I’m failing. I never thought I would be wishing to just go back to living my dreary, miserable life, but here I am. “Why,” I breathe quickly “Why can’t,” I breathe again. I can’t even form a sentence “just” I feel like I’m about to hit the ground “go back” It’s all going black. I’m so scared, but I can’t do anything about it-

I fall backwards, but only onto more of my bed. I can’t breathe and I look so pathetic, but I can’t get up now. I’m physically stuck lying down; my joints are stuck. I’m actually trapped. My body is trapped. I fell for the trap that God laid in front of me. I can’t move and it’s making it even harder to breathe.

“Brendon, you’re okay.” I’m told. Is that so?  
“Focus on me.” I’ll try. I’m trying.  
“I love you” his voice cracks and I can feel it.

He squeezes my hand tightly, and I squeeze back. “Take a deep breath.” He says and I actually listen this time, pulling in as much air as I can into my lungs and out again. He tells me “There we go, now try again slower.” I breathe in again and I cough. It completely throws me off and now-

“Don’t worry, it was just a cough, you can still breathe. Just let it all come back to you slowly and I promise you can do it.”

I let the air sneak into my nostrils as I melt into the mattress. He wipes the old traces of tears from my cheeks and kisses one. I let the air escape bit by bit.

“Don’t think; just breathe.” He whispers as he lays himself beside me.

I feel his fingers invite themselves into mine and they’re so welcome. The best part of this catastrophe is that I get to spend the whole night with him. Maybe even the rest of my life. That would be nice.  
I breathe out softly.

My breathing has evened itself out, now.

“Can I kiss you yet?” he asks me and I look into his eyes and nod.

He turns slightly so that he’s laying on his side and I do the same. Our faces meet and we make out in the most careful and gentle way that we ever have. I laugh while my lip is in his teeth. “What?” he asks me.

“We don’t usually kiss like this.” I smile, causing him to as well. “It’s nice.” I add.

“Yeah, it is.” He agrees and we meet again to continue.

His tongue lightly grazes my teeth. I pull my lower lip in a little and make a tiny “mh” noise.

We kiss until it feels like the right time to stop.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the BIG chapter.
> 
> what are you guys thinking of the story so far? let me know.
> 
> \- nicole x


	11. WAVE

“Will you come down with me to the telephone to call Spencer? He needs to know.” I quietly ask Dallon because I really don’t feel safe walking all the way down there on my own.

“Sure.“ he climbs off of my bed and lets out a hand to help me up. I take his hand and keep hold of it until we reach the dark wooden door to my bedroom. We slide our hands out of each other’s and I take a deep breath before I place my hand onto the handle. I push down on the rusted metal and slowly pull the door open.

Dallon and I keep a reasonable distance between each other as we walk through the halls and I keep my head low.

We finally reach the telephone and, luckily, I can remember Spencer’s number off by heart. I place my fingers into each of the holes of the digits and twist until I can hear ringing. 

Instead of placing it to my ear, I hold it of a distance so that both Dallon and I can hear. My hand is unsteady, shaking, so he takes the phone from me and he holds it in the same place, instead.

“Hello, this is Ginger Smith speaking. Who is this?” I hear.

“Hi, Ginger. It’s Brendon.” I don’t know what to say.

“Oh, hello Brendon, honey! Are you okay?” No, Ginger. I’m really not.

Avoiding her question that probably didn’t have much meaning behind anyway, I say, “I’m really sorry to trouble you, but I need to speak to Spencer right now.”

“Of course, he’ll be here right away.” She says, concern clear in her voice as she places the phone down on the side.

Soon, we hear the phone being picked back up, followed by Spencer, “Brendon?”

“Yes, and Dallon. Dallon’s here too. Something has happened. And I-“ my voice cracks and I look at Dallon as if to tell him that he’s going to have to do the talking.

“This is really difficult to put. Brendon and I, as you know, met from cricket practice. We never played cricket together. We still attended, but rather than playing cricket... we did some... things and got caught.”

“What things?” Spencer’s asking cautiously.

“Maruijana. And... being in a... relationship.”

“Damn! You got caught!?”

“Yes. Wait... did you know?” 

Yeah, Spencer. Did you know? It sounds like you did. Well, I never told you.

“Look. Brendon speaks about you a lot and though he has never told me that you two are in a relationship, he doesn’t make it very subtle either. Brendon doesn’t know what subtle is, which I’m sure you’ve come to find out.” Fuck you, Spencer Smith. That’s my best friend. Wow, I love him.

“Fuck off, Spencer.” I laugh and sniffle in all of this mess.

“Now, I didn’t know about the marijuana,” he continues, “but, it’s not like rich people don’t do drugs all the time - what else would you do with the money?” He whispers.

“Fair enough.” Dallon laughs.

Now for the unspoken question: “So... what’s going to happen?”

My throat goes dry. There’s a pause.

Filling in the silence, Dallon finally answers “We’re being moved to America.”

“Seriously?” Spencer asks, thinking it might be a prank call now.

“Yeah. Seriously.” My voice cracks again and this is why I shouldn’t speak right now.

“Damn. When?” Spencer’s series of questions hasn’t come to an end yet.

“Tomorrow.” I’m going to lose it. I’m going to have an anxiety attack again and probably pass out this time. Dallon can read me, he mouths ‘breathe’ and sends a reassuring look to me, so I nod and take a deep breath.

“And is that... forever?”

“Yeah.” Dallon doesn’t even bother beating around the bush and avoiding the dark tone.

This conversation is full of pauses. The one happening right now is possibly the longest.

“Can I come?”

“What?” I ask, disbelievingly.

“I’ll come with you. My family own a house in the United States and it was going to be given to me when I turned 18, anyway. I turn 17 in just a few months and they’ll let me have it early, I’m sure. We can live together until you both find a place.”

“Oh my God! That would be awesome. We can work on music and everything!” I exclaim.

I can hear Spencer’s smile travel through the phone cord. “Okay, I’ll speak to my mom.”

“Thank you so much.” I say to him with complete gratitude.

“It’s okay. Now, you guys better go before somebody in the Palace walks past you and says something. Stay safe.” Spencer hangs up.

Dallon and I walk straight back to my room, not wanting to spend any more time out of hiding.

It’s 10pm and we haven’t been fed. Tomorrow morning we have to be up at 5am to go to the airport, meaning nobody in the Palace will be awake. That’ll be our chance to get some food.

“Are you tired yet?” Dallon asks, clearly looking ready to sleep, himself.

“No, not really.” I tell him truthfully.

“How am I supposed to make you tired, then? I want to sleep.”

“Hmm, I don’t know.” I sigh and smile.

He gets out his pyjamas from his suitcase so I get mine out of my wardrobe.

I pull on the silk and smooth it down to fit onto my skin. Dallon gets into the bed and I follow. Lying down, I turn to face him. We look into each other’s eyes and we don’t even have to say anything. Today has been enough proof that we love each other. Some things just don’t need to be vocalised.

“I’m not sleepy” I whine.

Then, he traces his finger in circles on the palm of my hand and it tickles just the slightest bit. I breathe out slowly and feel myself calming. “This’ll make you sleepy” he whispers.

He’s right.

I feel myself whirling away into a pool of air. It’s elegantly casual, like his style. He’s calm, in and out. Waves go in and out. He’s a calm wave. I can feel him crash against my skin and I smile the second before sleep steals me.


	12. CHAOS AND ADIOS

Night time is just another way of wording a race against time for the ringing to reach my ears. My ears fill in with the clanging of the bells on the head of my alarm clock. I pull onto the string beside my bed and the room fills with light. There’s chaos everywhere I turn: the sheets are everywhere, my hair is a mess, my room is a wreck, there’s suitcase after suitcase and there’s another man in here. The man can stay, though – he’s fine. 

I take a good look at him, trying to distil the disorder surrounding me. What the fuck? “Dallon, get your ass up now! How are you still asleep? Did you not hear the alarm? Wake up, wake up, wake up, wake up, wake-“

“hmm…” he stirs and I stare in disbelief until he finally wakes. “Hey.” He smiles. How? Just how?

“You’d sleep through a fucking war.” I feel the need to inform him as I drag him out of my bed while he just laughs at me. “Now, get ready. We’re leaving today, in case somehow in your backwards universe you forgot.”

“Nope, just a heavy sleeper.” He winks.

I walk into my en suite and close the door behind me. There’s only one bottle of shower gel left out because all of my other toiletries are packed. Taking the bottle, I let myself into the cubicle to have my last shower in this palace.

Water trickles, glass steams, blah blah. I don’t have it in me to pay the same attention to details right now as I usually do. If anything, I don’t want to pay any attention to anything remotely connected to the universe. Everything’s too much.

To my surprise, I find Dallon brushing his teeth when I let myself out of the shower cubicle. Luckily, I wrapped a towel around my waist before getting out. I don’t think we’re quite at that stage yet; we haven’t even had sex. God, why haven’t we?

He spits out the toothpaste and rinses his mouth. Finally, I catch his glare and take his acknowledgement of me as an invitation to place my mouth onto his. Beneath the mint, his taste is still there.

I go back into the bedroom for one final tidy. I take off all of the bed sheets and pillows, place them on the floor, pick up the duvet, put it back on in a perfect rectangle, put on the pillows and I’m left with one cushion. When I put that one cushion down, it signifies the end. I place it down.

“Come on, lets go.” Dallon says, pulling our four large suitcases up to us. I nod and take the blue one and the green one.

I push the door open and head straight to the foyer. I don’t want to look back because I don’t want to remember this place, as wary as I am about the future.

“What about food?” Dallon asks just as we walk out into the front gardens of the palace. Shit, I forgot.

“We’ll eat at the airport.” I say, dismissively. I’m not going to be hungry for a while.

The chauffer nods at us and that’s it. We’re going.

Never in my wildest dreams did I imagine that this day would come.

-

I’m sat between Dallon and Spencer. On a plane. In the middle of the sky.

The second I left the palace, I left my mind and my body. Now I’m here and the world’s happening again. I feel so uncomfortable right now. Not with the seat, nor with the fact we’re in a flying vehicle. It’s my mind. Something about my fucking mind makes me feel like this.

I don’t really know what to do because I can’t exactly just pop out bit of fresh air. Where are you going Brendon? Oh, don’t mind me just going for a walk, let me just open this door a sec- shit. Yeah, uh, no. As much dread I’m feeling in my stomach right now, I don’t quite feel like jumping out of a plane.

Make it stop.

“Bren?” Oh, how wonderful, for someone has identified my discomfort.

“Yeah?” I reply to Spencer with my throat making me sound unintentionally raspy. There’s no way of hiding now.

“You okay, buddy?” What the fuck do I say to that? I am not making a scene on this aircraft.

“Sure”

“Do you want to come and walk to the back with me? There’s nobody there.”

“Yeah, please.” That’d be great.

Spencer and I look over to Dallon, who is contently reading a Doctor Who book. “Just going for a walk.” Spencer tells him and Dallon dismisses us with a ‘yeah, sure’, clearly not listening because nobody goes for a walk on a plane, as previously mentioned.

We get to the back row and I fall into one of the empty seats, breathing fast and dizzy. I’ve never had an anxiety attack in front of Spencer before; I’ve always managed to excuse myself out of a lesson before it escalated into one.

“Woah, what’s wrong?” Spencer’s asking me, sounding surprised and a little worried.

“I… I don’t know, I just keep getting these… these anxiety attacks and… I’m having one now I guess” I guess. I fucking guess. I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t be allowed words.

He sits himself down on the closest seat to me on the other half of the row, leaving an aisle between us. “It’s okay, I’ll help you. You’ll be alright. I know it’s not the most ideal of places to start panicking for no reason, but you’ll still get through this.” 

It’s all spinning round and my eyelids are closing themselves.

“Tell me five things you can see.” He says simply.

“Um… a, a seat, um… you… the floor… oh, Spence, I don’t fucking know.” I place my head in my hands.

“It’s okay. Don’t worry about it. Focus on your breathing instead. Try and hold your breath.”

I do exactly as he says, drawing in a large breath and keeping it in for as many seconds as I feel possible. When I let it out, close to drastically gasping, I search his face, hoping he doesn’t laugh at me because that was so embarrassing. Thankfully, I see nothing but care and reassurance. He doesn’t speak as I continue to take more deep breaths and gradually calm down, which is another thing I’m grateful for. Nobody likes to feel patronised

I close my eyes and let my head fall back into the seat. I swallow my spit. “Are you alright now?” he asks and I just nod. “Is that why you used to always leave class?” I nod again, eyes still closed, head still back. He gives me the silence and the time to take a few more deep breaths and I feel so much more peaceful.

I open my eyes and look to Spencer, “Thanks for being so patient with me, oh my God.” He’s been the biggest help. I really don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t have pulled me out of that situation and helped me through that. He really knew how to help, too.

“It’s okay, really.” He still looks a little bit concerned. “Do you want to go back to our seats now?”

“Maybe just a couple more minutes? I’m sorry, I just don’t feel like I’m ready to go back.”

“Of course. Dallon’s probably still too busy obsessing and fantasising over the Doctor to notice we’ve gone.” He says and we both chuckle because it’s true.

“Do you think he has a crush on him?” I ask, teasingly and Spencer grins.

“Bisexual and obsessed with Doctor Who, a book with a male protagonist, to a great extent. There’s a high chance.”

“You’re right. Let’s go back before I’m out of the picture completely!”


	13. KINDERGARTEN CUP

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Don't threaten him with a good time ;)

“This is your captain speaking. We shall be landing in London, Gatwick airport in approximately five minutes. Thank you for flying with British Airways.”

 

I don’t view stopping off in England as a bad thing. It’s actually awesome because we get the fun of experiencing another country for the night before getting back on another plane to travel to our new home. It’s breaking up the journey.

 

When the plane lands, we get up and go as soon as we can.

 

Security and luggage collection drags.

 

Now we’re at our hotel, called the ‘Holiday Inn’. That’s a cute, British name. I take the key card and let us all into our hotel room that we’re going to be sharing for the night. The beds are completely white with green comforters. There’s a double bed and a single bed. “DIBS ON THE DOUBLE BED!” I yell as I jump onto it, claiming my territory.

 

“I guess I’ll sleep on the single bed, then.” Spencer sulks.

 

“Unless you want to sleep with me!” I wriggle my eyebrows at him and he gives me a look to say ‘I’ll pass’. Dallon and I laugh.

 

“Well, it’s roughly seven ‘o’ clock here in England, so I think it's about the right time to get ready so we can go out to eat.” Dallon says.

 

“Where should we go?” I ask, cluelessly, because I don’t have a fucking clue about where things are here. Also, I’ve never been to a restaurant, but I know how it works. I’ve read enough books to know.

 

“I think we should go right into London. There’s, apparently, a well-known restaurant called ‘Browns’ that’s quite upper class. We could also try out a bar.” Dallon’s suggestions sound good to me.

 

I’m pretty thrilled to be having my first night out, here in London. Though, I won’t be having many others when I get to Las Vegas, because the legal age for drinking is 21. I’m 17, but according to my passport, I’m 19 in a few months, meaning I can legally drink tonight. England must be living it up, drinking out at 18.

 

We need to call a taxi to get into central London, so I take the book full of useful phone numbers made for tourists by the hotel and pass it to Dallon. “We’re going to have to call one of these numbers to get them to pick us up and take us.” I explain.

 

“Sure.” He says and picks up the hotel room telephone. He starts dialling.

 

It’s really impressive that there’s a phone for each room, considering it’s 1987. In the palace we only had one, but it’s understandable when you’re living in such a small country and don’t strictly need one when all that’s done all day in royalty is send and receive letters. I’ve always wondered what they’re even about.

 

“The taxi will be here in half an hour. We’ll have plenty of time to get ready.” I don’t know if that’s enough time; I need to pick the right outfit and wash my hair. I’m so stereotypically homosexual - how did I not realise before Dallon?

 

I open my clothing suitcase and sit and stare at it for a good few minutes

 

“Bren, why do you look like you’re wishing death upon a suitcase?” Spencer pulls me out of my long gaze.

 

“I don’t know what the fuck to wear.”

 

“You’re being ridiculous. You have a whole suitcase just for clothes, I’m sure you’ll find something.” Spencer’s got it all wrong.

 

“But they’re palace clothes; not normal, white boy, American clothes. As much as I love and worship every beautiful item of clothing I brought with me, I can’t go about my new life in that style.”

 

Dallon now steps into the conversation, “I’m not going to lie, you sound like the girls from Invisible Monsters (Chuck Palahniuk), but I understand where you’re coming from. All of my clothes are too formal, too. Just try to make it work tonight with whatever you have and when we get to the states, you can buy a whole new wardrobe.” He’s right.

 

I pull out my black Ted Baker dress suit trousers, a white shirt and black shoes. “A tie would be too formal, right?” I seek reassurance and Dallon nods. This reminds me of the time I asked my sister Kayla to help me get ready for my first date with Audrey, except I was seeking her guidance because I knew that if I didn’t have somebody motivating me, I would have reflected my lack of care for the date in my appearance. Tonight, on the other hand, I’m really looking forward to.

 

Spencer walks out of the bathroom, fully clothed and I’m guessing he just took a shower. Dallon nods at him as he walks past, on his way to the bathroom, now. The clock is ticking, so he better clean up quickly.

 

“Did you finally choose an outfit?” Spencer smiles amusedly.

 

“Yes, I did. You’d be pleased to hear.” I smile back a little sarcastically, but harmless. I love how we have this ongoing repartee: it’s something you can share, only when you’ve reached a whole new level of friendship. Spencer and I are definitely on that level, now. 

 

-

 

“That steak was beautiful!”

 

“Mine, too.” Spencer replies to me.

 

“How was your lobster risotto?” I ask Dallon. It looked and sounded interesting.

 

“It was quite nice.” He smiles.

 

We’re on our way to a bar, in England. Something I really never thought that I would say. I’m still getting used to not being in the palace. Well, I better get fucking used to it because I’m not going back.

 

In front of us is a sign that reads ‘Blind Pig’. We look in to the place and see a lot of class and retro. Despite that, we can also see drinks being served that look impressively modern and bright, juxtaposing the setting. 

 

Walking in, we head straight for the bar and sit ourselves down on the black and copper stools. We all agreed that we’d have cocktails. Spencer ordered ‘Slap ‘n’ Pickle’ and Dallon ordered ‘Robin Hood, Quince of Thieves’. I ordered the ‘Kindergarten Cup’, also known as vodka and skittles, being the little child at heart that I am.

We’re served our drinks and I take a sip of mine straight away. It’s compacted with flavour, which is my favourite thing in a drink. People say that the alcohol you drink reflects on your personality and I can understand that.

 

“I’ve got to admit, I am in all favour of the puns.” Spencer confesses to the bartender who winks back at him. Only Spencer Smith would I see in this situation; he’s such a flirt with women.

 

-

 

I stumble back into the hotel room and fall on the bed in fits of giggles. I can tell by the grins on Dallon and Spencer’s faces that they are finding this more than entertaining. There’s no logical explanation behind this laughter other than alcohol, candy and caffeine.

 

Images flash back of the night as I roll around like a big kid on the bed. We went to a ‘gay bar’ and a man in drag made me wear his high heels. I fucking rocked them.

 

“Hey, how awesome is it that there’s such thing as a bar for gay people! I never even knew that was a thing. You know, Spencer, you really missed out. But, that lady was quite pretty, so I guess it doesn’t matter. Did you have a good time with her? Did you fuck her? Oh my god! I bet you did! Seventeen years old and fucking a hot bartender you just met. Living the lifeeee! Good on you Mr. Smith!”

 

“You need a glass of water, dude.” Spencer comes up to me and passes me a glass he must have made appear by magic because I swear we only just walked into the hotel room. I take it, sip a tiny bit and put it on the bedside table, only for Spencer to pick it up and bring it back to my mouth, forcing me to drink it.

 

“Ew.” I say after drinking half a glass in one go.

 

“You’ll thank me later.”


	14. GOLDEN POLAROID

“I’m so hungover” I whine against Dallon’s shoulder.

He adjusts himself in the confined seat as much as he can and says “Please don’t drool on my shoulder, Bren.”

I mumble a “sorry” and drift back into the half-asleep haze I’ve been falling in and out of for the past hour, or whatever.

-

“W-what” I stir and realise nobody was speaking to me. I stretch vertically, because that’s the only way I can with the space given, and ask to anyone who wants to answer “How long was I asleep for?” Spencer replies, telling me that I was asleep for eight hours and I sigh – that means I’ve got to somehow kill time for another two hours. 

“Have you guys gone to sleep yet?” I ask both of them.

“Nope,” Spencer says, “but Dallon has.”

“You should get some sleep Spence, it’s…” I look at my watch “well, it’s 5am in Albania and 8pm in Vegas, but it doesn’t matter because you haven’t slept since we got back at 1am at our hotel in England and had to wake up again at 7am for our 9am flight.”

“That’s a lot of timings you’re throwing at me there, Bren.”

“Okay, cool, so are you tired now?”

“Oh, you silly little child.”

I flip him off, “Go to sleep.”

“Fine” he surrenders and turns himself to face towards the tiny window. I see him rest his head, and thank God. The last thing we need is a moody, unhealthy Spencer.

I make sure to keep quiet when I ask Dallon “So, what do you want to do?” There’s no way that I’m sitting here, doing nothing, being eaten alive by boredom. I never let that happen, even in the palace. I need to stop thinking about the palace, it’s in the past. I need to act like it never happened. When I get to Vegas, I’m starting over and I won’t have a past. I’ll come up with some story if I really have to, but it’s not like people will even want to know. It seems like everyone has a dark past, so nobody asks.

“I don’t know, what do you want to do?” Oh no, not this Dall.

“You choose.”

“Well, you see, the thing is… I don’t know what to do.” He puts on this voice and I know I’m not supposed to, but I find it really attractive.

“I know what I want to do, but I have a feeling it’s a bad idea to do it here, so I’m going to have to somehow hold back.” I whisper in his ear.

“And what’s that?” He asks aloud, intrigued.

I carry on whispering, “I want to kiss you so bad. I just want to put my lips on yours. God, the last time we kissed was at the bar in London. I miss you. I want to touch you.”

He whispers to me now, “Bren, I wouldn’t. You’re going to make me want to fuck you for the first time in a toilet cabin on an aeroplane. I want our first fuck to be somewhere a little more established.” My hairs stand up. He’s the one who needs to stop. He’s the one filling me with want. Why, just why can’t I kiss him? Why does the world have to say no?

“The second we’re alone at Spencer’s house, we will touch and we can fuck and just live in each other’s skin.” I promise him and the thought makes me feel so much better. I can wait. I used to wait a whole week. There I go again, mentioning the past. I’ll get over it at some point. I’m still on the journey, quite literally.

“I have an idea, let’s play rummy.” Dallon gets out a pack of cards. “Remember when we played it almost all night, back at your fifteenth birthday party.”

“Oh my God, yeah! And we gave each other surprise cocktails.” I laugh at the memory. Not all of them have to have bad connotations. The days I spent with him were gold amongst silver/grey. “I never told you this, but I actually kept the polaroid picture we took that night. I guess it’s not that embarrassing because the film used to be so expensive and precious, but really, I felt less lonely just knowing that picture was there, with me at the palace. I wanted to feel like you were always with me.”

“That is so adorable.” Dallon says in awe.

“I know, I know” I laugh and tilt my head back a little to send away the tears that I didn’t know were starting to form in my lower eyelids.

“Right, now do you want to play rummy?” He asks and I nod after quickly composing myself.

-

“Honey, we’re home!” Spencer has the widest grin as he opens the door to the huge house. I’ve got to admit: his smile is contagious. I refuse to hold back how fricking happy I feel in this moment. He places the keys down on a glossy black table by the door and Dallon comes in with our suitcases. I’m not being very helpful in this moment in time, I’ll admit. I’m acting a bit like a puppy in its new home. What am I talking about – I am a puppy in its new home!

“A little help here would be much appreciated.” Dallon deadpans and I feel guilty, so I give in and take two suitcases from him. Spencer goes out to help bring his two cases in and Dallon collects everything else. When us and our belongings are all finally inside, Spencer picks back up the keys, closes the door and locks it.

This is it. We’re actually here. This is crazy. We made it. We’re in Vegas.

“I can’t believe it.” I say.

“Me neither.” Dallon says.

“Well, best believe it!” Spencer says.

“So, who’s sleeping where?” I ask because we completely haven’t discussed this yet.

“I’ll show you around, don’t worry.” He leads us up the stairs

“Wait, so you’ve been here before, right?”

“Yeah, I’ve stayed here for a couple of summers. Mom always brought us here.”

“Cool.”

Once we reach the top of the spiral case, I correct myself in my head: this is not a house, this is a mansion. A beautiful modern mansion that beats a palace or a castle any day. It’s still a home.

“Okay, so here we have what will be my bedroom.” Spencer gestures towards the first room we see. It has a king-sized bed with monochrome bed linen and curtains, a silver vinyl record player and a 50s black radio player on the bedside table.

Then, he gestures to the next room, which is an office study, “the study” he mimics my inner dialogue. He continues walking to show us the bathroom, “bathroom/toilet/restroom, whatever”. Now, we’re left with two rooms, both of which are bedrooms. “Now comes your decision. You can pick which room you two want to share. Well, I’m assuming you want to share a room, right?”

“Yeah,” I look at Dallon for approval, which he gives, so I continue “which one do you want, Dall?”

“I don’t mind.” He shrugs. I swear to God, his constant indifference will be the death of me.

“We’ll take his one?” I point to the room with the variation of aubergine shades and silk sheets.

“Sure.” Spencer smiles, “Now let me show you downstairs – there’s a room that I know we’re all going to be spending the majority of our time in.”


	15. HIGHLIGHT

We’ve been living at Spencer’s for just one week and we’ve managed to go out and meet new people, find loads of bars we like and don’t like and most importantly, we’ve made music.

I’ve been thinking so much lately; more than ever before. It’s probably the change of scenery. Inside my mind, it reflects the city of Vegas quite well. There’s the neon lights, the drunk people, the tourists, the gamblers – they all add up to create something far too similar to what goes on in my brain. I wrote a song called Vegas Lights that sums all of this up, really.

Right now we’re trying to put some music behind the lyrics and I don’t see this working. Sure, we could put drums behind it and well… bass too, now that I think about it, but I don’t know. It’s just not going how I thought it would. Some of the songs have gone really well, if you take Nicotine and Casual Affair for examples. This Is Gospel is still in the works. Now we’ve started Vegas Lights as secretly a way of procrastinating finishing the other songs.

There’s a current band that we all are quite keen on. They make pop gone rock music and though it’s not the classic rock or alternative that we’re used to, it’s good. I guess it’s kind of similar to what we’re aiming for. We’re thinking of sending some tapes of our demos to the frontman, who has a record label. You never know, we could get signed. I might just be being a little too cocky, but confidence is never a bad thing. Not after everything I’ve been through.

“You guys, this isn’t working.” Spencer fesses up. Finally, someone’s said it.

“I know.” Dallon sighs.

“Well how can we make it work?” I’m not fucking giving up.

“Maybe this song isn’t made for guitar. It sounds like it’d maybe work with electronic synthesisers.” Dallon suggests. It could be, but who knows. We don’t have a studio. We have a giant room in a giant house, full of real instruments.

“I don’t think we should work on this song any longer.” I admit. Not at the moment, anyway. Maybe when we get some more advanced technology within our reach.

“Okay” They both sigh.

“C’mon lets go somewhere else, the air’s too depressing in this room.” Now they’re both laughing.  
I get up to go to the kitchen and get a glass of water. Dallon goes to the library room and Spencer goes into the sofa room next to the kitchen, which I retire to once I’ve had a drink.

“Hey,” I say when I walk into the room. “So, what’s new?” I join him on the black velvet sofa, resting my feet on the cool tiles.

“Nothing you don’t know already.” He smiles. “Are you and Dallon okay?”

“Yeah, of course. Why wouldn’t we be?”

“I don’t know, just making small talk.”

“Way to go, Spencer Smith. Never one to shy from the harsh reality.”

“You know me.” He winks.

“Have you met anyone yet?” I ask, referring to the romantic/sexual type of ‘meeting’ people.

“Oh, you know, just a few women at bars. Nothing serious.”

I grin, “Do you ever think you’ll settle down?”

“To be quite honest with you, I actually don’t know.”

“Well, do you want to?” I ask, a bit worried for him because I don’t want him growing old alone. He deserves so much better than that. Knowing him, he will let that happen to himself. He’ll keep on not caring until one day it will hit him, when he’s old and wrinkled and I don’t want him to be that sad old man. Not when he could be a handsome, retired rockstar with a wife, who stayed safe from drugs and alcohol and all that shit.

“I don’t know.” He answers.

-  
Tonight, we’re playing a gig at a bar on the strip. I don’t know how we managed it, but we really are going to play live in front of people. This should get our name out there. Our name being Panic! At The Disco, we decided. ‘Panic’ being a reference to The Smiths, one of the first bands we covered a song by and ‘Disco’ because our songs are more like rock you would dance to.

I’m really liking the tight white shirt and black trousers look, so that’s what I was originally going for tonight, but then I remembered that we’re not going out for drinks. We’re going out to perform and try and get as much attention as possible. That’s when I decided some of the old suits and corsets and what not would finally be of use. I’m really looking forward to wearing the clothes that I love again, as much as I hated that God damn palace.

The brand of my corset is ‘Sin & Satin’ which makes me love it all the more. The base colour of it is black, but there are red loose swirls with gold details embroidered on. The metal loop holes on the back are a sheen gold with black ribbon laced through in zig zags that end at the top where, instead of tying it, I leave them to dangle as a statement.

I also have a very light layer of makeup on. Only an extremely thin layer of foundation and a gold highlighting sheen that’ll no doubt be caught under the lights when we’re on tonight.

-

It wasn’t what I expected. At first, nobody even had the intention of listening, but I made damn fucking sure that they would and so did the guys by playing loud and with a few tricks, too. I’d say, in the room of about 50 people, 40 were listening and according to the manager, it was the most a gig had actually been cared about. We made an agreement that we could play there live every Friday night, which is absolutely amazing.

Now I’m stood in front of my wardrobe, using the opaque reflection from how glossy the doors are to watch myself take off my makeup.

I was so far from shy on the stage. I was loud and clear. I had conviction.

I throw the cotton pad I was using into the bin and go down to the kitchen to get a glass of water. 

Dallon and Spencer are both in the kitchen already, hydrating after the show. Dallon greets me with a wave while he has a glass in his mouth and Spencer says a simple “hey”.

“Hey guys.” I say and go into one of the millions of cupboards to find a glass. Finally, I’m used to having actual cupboards that I have to use, and therefore know where the fuck the glasses are. I don’t know how Spencer’s had the patience to deal with Dallon and I getting used to the domestic life. As much as we hate, hate, hate to admit it, we’re used to things being done for us, resulting in us simply not knowing.

“I’m off to bed,” Spencer sighs and stretches his arms, most likely worn out from how hard he was bashing those drums – it was as though his life depended on it. I suppose it does in a way, considering that money only gets you so far; after that, you either run out, or get bored. That’s what this band is, Panic! At The Disco, it’s our sanity. It always has been and always will be. Now we just have a name on it.

“Good night, Spence. You killed it!” I wink at him and remind him.

“Night, and thanks.” He smiles a little and I smile back.

Dallon looks at me as if he’s going to die if I don’t get my ass over to him and make out with him properly, so I tiptoe slowly just to piss him off. But, then I realise, I’m suffering from this teasing too, so I rush over to him and find his lips. I kiss and kiss and kiss them. I don’t stop until Dallon pulls back and says “Do you want to…?” and gestures to the spare bedroom on this lower floor. I nod and give him devil eyes. Our lips meet one last time before we’re rushing into the other room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I need you readers to let me know: do you want smut in this story, or will it ruin it? Let me know, please.
> 
> \- Nicole x


	16. DIZZY SPELL OF LUST AND DISBELIEF

Dallon pushes me on the bed while I’m in the middle of taking off my clothes. He’s feeling just as impatient as I am. I feel like throwing all of the clocks through the glass of the window. Not just get rid of time, smash it to peices. Time isn’t fair. I want to spend as long as I want to spend fucking this beautiful man.

I never saw Dallon as, necessarily, a man before, but now he’s on top of me, that’s beginning to change.

His cock is bare and hovering over me, meanwhile he gets himself in the right position. I’m in a dizzy spell of lust and disbelief. This is happening. This is beautiful.

I have butterflies. You know, the good kind. His skin touches mine. His hands are almost shaking, but he has control. He always has control. Right in this moment, everything’s slow and hesitant, full of nervous energy that does nothing but excite you. It juxtaposes I know; it almost doesn’t make any sense, but it is what it is.

I watch him slowly slide a finger into me. I take a deep breath through my nose with each finger he puts in. It’s strangely nice. He works them to stretch my hole and after a few minutes of me getting used to it, he pulls them out.

“Are you ready?” He asks so gently. I nod and breathe in. He pushes into me and this feels so new. I feel him thrust a few times and then start to relax into it. I move with him because I’m not letting him do all the work. I want to make him feel good. God, I want him to cry my name. It’ll be a side I’ve never seen of him before. I want the pleasure of experiencing that.

Dallon isn’t that vocal, but you can hear his breath. It’s sharp and loud and sounds so sexy. I, on the other hand, am vocal, which hopefully he appreciates. It’s not like I can help all the moans and gasps he’s drawing out of me. I just feel so amazing right now, and my body won’t let me keep quiet about it.

I feel him hit a spot and I shiver and whimper. I take both of my hands and push his hips down, making him go in deeper. “Mm, fuck yeah” I moan as he slowly pushes in as far as he can. After that, he quickens the pace and I just have to touch my cock. I stroke it once and the muscles in my stomach contract a little from all of the pleasure. “Oh my God, kiss me” I beg him because he’s making me feel so good.

Our faces smash against each other’s, messy and gorgeous. I bite his lip and I feel his knees go a little weaker against my thighs. He recollects his strength to come back strong with his thrusts and I push back into them with all my might, stroking myself at the same time. It’s all so intense, fuck.

Dallon starts whimpering too now, saying “I’m going to come, oh God” and I nod, I am too. I feel his warm come leak inside of me whilst he moans and it starts shooting out of me too. God, god, god, this feels good. This man makes me feel this way. “Dallon, you’re so hot” I whine, adding emphasis to the word ‘hot’. I kiss him again, salty and full of lip.

Our legs are tangled. He’s half on top of me, half next to me. Suddenly I feel him cup my ass and I don’t care how sore I’ll be tomorrow, I want another round. “Again?” I ask him, hopefully.

“Mm, yeah, B” our eyes meet and he smiles. Instead of getting back on top of me, he crawls of the bed, positioning himself so that his head is right by my cock. 

A sudden tongue goes up my shaft and I jerk. He makes my whole length lubricated with his saliva and then takes me into his mouth. He sucks, making each suck harder and harder. He pulls most of my dick out of his mouth and keeps a hold of it with his hand. Without warning, he licks my slit and I gasp, gripping onto the sheets. After that, he goes straight back to sucking and I’m about to climax again.

While I’m still in his mouth, I come and he takes it so well, swallowing all of it. 

My head falls back and I sigh contently. He comes back up onto the bed to meet me and I wrap my hand into his. I hold on tight.

“Fuck, I love you.” He says.

“I love you too.” I kiss his cheek.

Luckily, every bedroom in this house is an en suite, therefore I can have a shower. I don’t want to wash his sweat and scent off of me, as dirty as it sounds. I just want his skin to be mine.

After minutes of laying there with him, I get up and walk into the bathroom. I flick on the switch and am greeted by a bright LED light. Dallon follows me into the shower and I can’t believe how things are changing so much. We’re getting intimate on more of an adult level and, really, why shouldn’t we? I’m eighteen and he’s nineteen.

I turn on the water and it’s enough to hit the both of us. He turns me so that we’re facing each other and we make out. The water runs down our bodies, on our backs and between our lips. For almost the entirety of the shower, we kiss. Then, we decide to clean ourselves and get out.

We head back to our room to get some sleep now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nobody asked for smut, but here you go. Smut’s nice.
> 
> \- Nicole x


	17. LUCKY CHARM

“Morning,” I smile at him when I see him stretch and start to open his eyes.

“Hey,” he sighs, closing his eyes again.

“You okay?” 

“Yeah, how long have you been awake?” he asks back with his eyes still shut, probably just tired.

“I’d say two hours.” I laugh at myself because I wake up so early.

“My God, I don’t know how you do it, B.” He just called me B, which I’m not used to and I’m pretty sure he’s never called me before. I’ll let him off, he has only just woken up. We are in America too, now, where slang terms and nicknames are a big thing. I don’t know if I like it or not, yet.

My mind casts back to one day in the palace, when Audrey was invited round for dinner. We were sat by the table that held endless amounts of bread. All we ate was bread, it seemed. My mother was sat in front of me and my father was at the head of the table, beside my mother and I. Audrey was beside me, and my siblings filled in whatever space was left - don’t care, never did.   
The feast was finished, all plates empty, excluding crumbs. Audrey then said her piece, “Thank you very much for having me over for another one of your lovely dinners. Bren and I are very glad that you introduced us to each other all those months ago and I would just like to share my gratitude.” It was bullshit, obviously and she was just doing it to suck up to the rich King and Queen because of her princess blah blah whatever kiss me I’m royal money fancy dresses beautiful yuck. I didn’t even take much notice of her royal kissassness, thanks to her use of ‘Bren’. It was the slip of the tongue and we all tried to ignore it, however, my parents started inviting her over less and less, getting the impression, I assume, that she was a little too common for their liking. Eventually she cut the ties, breaking up with me, and the Sunday following, I put a little more effort into praising the lord. Somehow with her little manipulative ways, she must have persuaded her parents into letting her stop seeing me. She never did any harm to me and I never did to her, I just didn’t feel anything. She was a girl.

I glance beside me back over to Dallon and see that he’s fallen back asleep. I sigh and roll my eyes, not that anybody can see. “Dall, wake up.” Nothing. “Oh, for fucks sake, Dallon. Hello?” I tap him on the shoulder until he stirs. “Finally.”

“Sorry.” He laughs, typical for him.

“Can we get out of bed before you fall back asleep again please?”

“Fine.”

I stand up, pull the silky black sheets to his feet and walk round to his side of the bed to lean on the crushed velvet headboard. Love comes back to me when he stands up and kisses me on the forehead.

Following him into the kitchen, I pull on a shirt, in case we bump into Spencer down there. We walk in to find the room empty, so I take a look at the time on the wall clock. It’s 11am, meaning I woke up at around 9.

Dallon takes out two slices of bread from a loaf and goes into the cupboard, pulling out a box of lucky charms. “I suppose you want these for breakfast?” I nod, grinning. He empties them into a bowl for me and pours the milk whilst he waits for his toast. Just as he puts the carton back in the fridge, the toast pops out and I go to pick up the bowl.

I take it over to the breakfast counter and remind myself we’ve got another gig later, at a different bar. “Hey, what songs are we going to play tonight?” I ask Dallon.

“I’m not sure, we said we’d play Casual Affair last, but we still haven’t agreed on what other two songs we’d play.”

“Okay, we need to speak to Spencer then.”

“Yeah, do you know where he is?”

“I remember him saying something about going gig-hunting tomorrow, which is now today, so yeah that’s probably what he’s doing.” I speak as my memory recollects.

-

“You guys, oh my fucking God!” Spencer comes almost running up to us at the bar.

“What!?” I ask, not knowing whether to be worried or really fucking excited.

“Pete Wentz! You know, Pete! Pete from Fall Out Boy. He’s here! We’ve got to go and speak to him!” That’s crazy. The band we thought we were similar to and pretty much look up to actually know about us. How!?

“We can’t just approach him though!” I hiss. He’s a celebrity.

“Well, if we don’t, maybe we won’t get the chance to speak to him ever again.” Spencer argues.

Dallon comes in, telling us “Shut up, I think he’s coming over.” I take a deep breath. Holy shit.

I glance over at him and we exchange a glance as he walks over. I play it cool.

“Hi! I’m Pete.” He greets us.

“Hey, from Fall Out Boy, right?” I smile wide.

“Yeah! Dude, rumour started spreading back in Chicago that there’s a new band playing in Vegas and that they were kind of like us. I came here to try and prove a point of otherwise, but I was actually really impressed, I can genuinely say. When’s your next gig?”

I look to Spencer, who then says “Next Friday.” 

“Would you mind writing down the details, I think I’ll come and watch. It’d be good to hear another one of your original songs.” I take a mental note, adding Nicotine to next week’s setlist.

I grab a napkin and ask “Err…is it alright if I write it on this?” and laugh.

“Sure,” He sends a friendly laugh back and I feel at ease.

“Um, Spence, do you want to write it…” I say when I realise he hasn’t even told me where the venue is.  
Spencer nods and takes the napkin, writing down the time, date and place. While he does this, Pete takes the time to ask a few questions, “So, who writes the lyrics? They’re quite dextrous. I like it.”

“Well, I’d say Dallon was originally the main lyricist, but he and I wrote Casual Affair together. We bounce ideas off each other all the time and sometimes I’ll even write the song myself.”

“That’s cool. Patrick and I have quite a similar process. You know Patrick, right?”

“Of course, he’s the lead singer man!” I laugh.

Pete shrugs and smiles, “True.” Spencer hands him the napkin. “Hey, and must I say, you killed them drums. That was really amazing.”

“Thank you.”

“Right, well I’m going back to Chicago now, so I’ll see you all next Friday.”

“Thank you so much for coming.” Dallon now says and Pete nods.

“See you, guys.” He finishes and we wave him goodbye.

That’s insane.


	18. ROARING NERVES

“Dallon, help, please.” I rush up to him. He’s sat down alone in the living room. I’m stood up panicking.

“Hey, what’s going on?” He asks gently as he stands up and places a soft hand on my back. This just feeds into the butterflies – the roaring sensation of nerves burning from the bottom of my stomach to my throat. There’s pain of all sorts, everywhere: my neck feels like it’s straining, my legs have gone weak and there’s just so many tingling nerves let loose around my body, having a riot.

“Bren, what’s going on?” he repeats while I give him no noise other than my sharp constant breaths that are way too fast, I know. I can’t control it though.

“Brendon.” I look at him, making sure my eyes reflect the fear I’m feeling inside. He gives up trying to make me speak and sits me down on the sofa. “It’s okay,” he tells me, trying to comfort me. I shake my head; how in the fuck is it okay.

He places a hand on my knee. “Is there a reason why you’re panicking?” He asks slowly so I can hear. I honestly don’t have a fucking clue why I’m panicking, so I lift my hands dramatically to show that. “Okay, you need to breathe slow and you’ll get through this.” I really don’t know about that. Hopefully I’ll just fall asleep like I used to do. Thinking back, I don’t think it was falling asleep. All those times I’d cry and hyperventilate in my room alone, not knowing how to deal with it. I panicked to the point I would pass out and honestly, I was grateful. It was pretty much the only way I could stop it. At school I could walk it off because it never got too bad there.

“Do you want me to get you anything? A glass of water?”

Finally, I summon everything in me to try and speak. I swallow, trying to loosen the hole that’s swelling in my throat. “No, please just stay with me.”

“Of course.” He promises me.

“Can I have a hug?” I whisper amongst the short breaths coming out of me. He gives me a sad smile and pulls me in. My chest is heaving against his. He can probably feel my heart beating. He can probably feel every shudder and shake as if its him who has the chills. I pull away from him and say “I need a drink, but I don’t want to go on my own.” It’s so pathetic, but I’ll just panic even more if I’m left alone. I’ll fall over or something.

“I’ll come with you.” He helps me up and walks with me to the kitchen. I reach out with my trembling hand to get a glass, but Dallon stops me, taking out a glass and filling it up for me.

We walk back to the living room and when I sit down he hands me the drink. I take a gulp and stop myself before I drink too much and choke. The second I swallow it, I start gasping for air and he takes the drink from me a little startled.

I scrunch my eyes shut, still gasping, and before every breath, I get scared that I’m not going to be able to keep up. I’m really struggling. They’re not fast breaths any more, there are long pauses between each beg that comes from my body. I can’t breathe. I actually can’t. I fucking can’t breathe. This is actually what it’s like to die, isn’t it?

Dallon stiffens up and starts speaking to me in a serious voice, “Brendon, take a deep, deep breath.”

“I----I-----CAN’T” I try to get out.

“You can. What you need to do, is let it out slower. Do it with me. Breathe in,” he counts to 4 on his fingers, “breathe out.” He counts another 4. I do my best to keep in time with him. “Again, okay, babe. You’ve really got this. Breathe in,” 1-2-3-4, “breathe out.” 1-2-3-4.

“Oh my god I hate this.” I place my head in my hands.

“Come on, it’s nearly over. Breathe in, 1, 2, 3, 4. Now breathe out. See, you’re breathing so much better now.

I take five more deep breaths at the same pace and find myself finally doing it naturally. I fall into Dallon and rest my head by his chest. He places his hand in my hair and holds me close. “It’s okay. You’re safe.” I feel my eyes well up, so I move myself so that my body is lying across the whole of the sofa and facing up, with my head resting on his lap. I keep taking deep breaths and he gives me encouragements, telling me “That’s it, deep breaths” and “I love you” and “It’s going to be alright”. I feel calm.

“Thank you so much.” I say to him. I needed him more than ever, then. I was almost convinced at one point that I was going to die.

“Are you sure there was nothing that triggered it?” He asks me, hand still soothing my hair.

I think back now that my mind’s clearer. “Well, I was in the library and I was trying to read but the words just weren’t being absorbed and the next thing I remember was feeling that sudden tingle in my stomach that I know all too well is anxiety, and I was already stressed out that I couldn’t read properly and I don’t think the two things mixed very well.”

“Okay. You don’t think the anxiety was linked to anything, do you? Maybe you felt like that before when you were trying to read? Or maybe you were thinking about something making you nervous?”

“I don’t remember, if I’m honest.” I tell him.

“Was it the show tonight?” He asks as if he’s wanted to ask that question all along.

“Well, I wasn’t thinking about the show, but maybe it was underlying anxiety. I’m not too nervous about it though; I’m more excited, if anything.”

“It could just be underlying anxiety, like you said, but it just escalated.” I nod my head to agree with him. “How do you feel now?” He asks.

“Better.” I half-smile. I get up off his lap and kiss him on the cheek. “Do you want to go out somewhere?”

“Sure, where?”

“I don’t know, maybe just for a walk.” I suggest and he nods.

We go into the cupboard and take out our coats. Dallon’s is long, black and handsome. I have a slick new leather jacket that I bought on the strip only a week ago.

Once we have our coats on, we walk out into the cold, fresh air of January.


	19. SIGN

I could probably think of a profound description for the walk that Dallon and I just went on, maybe even embedding some philosophical thoughts in it. But, really, it was simply a nice and refreshing change of scenery to take my mind off of things.

We’re now just coming back, walking through the door to the house. “Hey, Spence!” Dallon yells out to let Spencer know that we’re here, if he’s even here, too, anyway.

“Hey!” He calls back and we see him come from the music room. “So, you guys excited?”

“Duh!” I grin widely with the new buzzing energy I’ve been given. It’s a good kind of energy that I’m practically radiating with.

“I am!” Dallon winks. That was pretty hot, I’m not going to lie. He should change his name to Dallon Winks. He might have to if we get famous.

“Right, well, we need to be at the venue by 6pm, so I think it’s best we get ready right away.” Spencer informs us and I agree. We have half an hour before we should leave, which will be just enough time for me to put on my outfit and do a little makeup.

I walk up the stairs first and the two of them then follow.

In my room, I remember I left out my outfit for tonight on the bed. Thank you, dearest Brendon from this morning who thought ahead, knowing that picking an outfit is not such a simple thing. It never will be simple for me because I care way too much. God, I love clothes.

Dallon glances at my outfit and then stops to take a proper look, even though I’m not wearing it yet. “Impressive.” He sends a nod of approval and I thank him for it. “So, would you say a deep shade of purple would compliment?”

I hum, questioning. “Show me.”

He pulls out a velvet aubergine blazer and I instantly agree, “Oh God, yes, that’ll look stunning.”

I get dressed, starting with my jeans. I slide on and button up my shirt. I tuck it in. And finally, I put on my red/burnt orange metallic biker jacket that I absolutely fucking love. It’s the best modern thing that I own, in my opinion. My favourite thing I’ve bought in America.  
“Woah, that really suits you.” Dallon tells me and he’s literally stopped getting dressed to look at me.

“Thank you, Dall.” I blush and kiss him on the cheek as I walk over to the dressing table.

I lift the lid to get out a BB cream, which I’ve learnt is a light foundation, like a tinted moisturiser. I also get out a red/gold highlight and two brushes. Then, I place the lid down to begin applying.

Spencer knocks and Dallon yells over the Smashing Pumpkins record playing, telling Spencer he can come in. “So, what do you want me to wear?” He asks me, directly, all too sassily.

“Hey, don’t act like I don’t give you a choice! I do!”

He sighs. “Okay. Well, what do you think I should wear?”

“Ooh, I think I remember you had pine green trousers, right?”

“No, that was a blazer.”

“Even better! Nobody’s going to see your legs behind a drum kit anyway, to be honest.”

“So, should I wear that?”

“If you want, yeah. That’d look nice. It’d suit mine and Dallon’s colours.”

“Okay, thanks for your help…” he trails off, getting quitter with each word, probably not wanting to sound gay.

“No prob, Spenny.” I say and Dallon bursts out laughing.

When I’m done with my highlight, I step back to check it. It’s too dark, so I wipe off just a little bit with my finger and it looks so much better. It matches the jacket, too. I look over to Dallon and he’s ready too, and so handsome. The blazer rolls up his arms a bit, and has tiny ruffles at the elbow where the seam is to keep it shorter, making it much more casual than a suit jacket. The material is a medium thickness velvet, again, thinner than a suit jacket. It’s so perfect. I could go on.

“You look beautiful.” I say to him and we share a long kiss on the lips.

“So do you.” He says with my bottom lip in his teeth, giving me all his breath, but somehow making me breathless.

“Let’s kill tonight.” I finish as we walk out the door to my bedroom.

-

SETLIST:  
1\. Karma Police  
2\. Nicotine  
3\. Tonight Tonight  
4\. Casual Affair

That’s it. We did it. We performed in front of Pete.

“You guys seriously are a great band. I have some things I’d like to discuss with you guys if you want to just come to my table.” He leads us over to his table and there’s paperwork. Holy shit. No fucking way on this planet.

We sit down, all going crazy in our minds, trying not to let it show on the outside. I think we’re doing a semi-okay job. 

“Okay, so I think that you guys are an extremely talented band. I initially came to your show, the first time, because I’d been hearing rumours that there was a new band in town that was becoming increasingly popular that played similar stuff to us. I came to hopefully prove everyone wrong, but honestly, the only thing I thought while you were playing was: I need to sign this band. That leads to the paperwork on my desk. I’ve got a side label, connected to Fueled By Ramen, called Decaydance Records. I’d really like to sign you guys. What do you say?”

Just before I’m about to scream yes, Spencer, the one with the most rationality, asks “Can we just ask a few questions first?”

Pete nods, “Of course.”

“So, if we sign these papers, we’ll be signed to Fueled By Ramen?”

“Yes, and to Decaydance.” Holy shit.

“And you’ve spoken to Fueled By Ramen?”

Pete laughs, “Yes. Don’t worry.”

“Is there anything we need to know before signing?” Dallon asks, now.

“You can read the letter that you’re signing if you want.”

I nod and take the paper, so that the three of us can read it.

Once we’ve read it I say “Yes, we’ll sign it. Do you have a pen?”

Pete passes me a pen. I sign it first, then Spencer, then Dallon. The second Dallon takes the pen off the paper, a wide grin plasters my face. How many times do I have to say: this is crazy – before it stops being crazy. I don’t want to know.

This is the happiest I’ve ever been. I’m in the best place, mentally and physically. I’m in Vegas, in a band, in love, in this huge pub with Pete Wentz after performing and getting signed.

“Thank you so much, Pete. This is the best opportunity we’ve ever had.” I tell him and the guys agree.

“You’re welcome. As I said, I really think you have potential. Now, I need you to turn the page and write an address that the label can send you letters about studio time and pretty much everything.”  
I hand the paper over to Spencer again because he knows the address. He writes it down carefully, making sure it’s 100% legible, and asks “Do you need anything else?”

“A telephone number would be great, just in case.”

Spencer writes down the number to our phone and passes it back to Pete, for the last time. I have no clue how he remembers the number to our house phone off by heart. I guess somebody has to.

“Okay, now that’s it for the signing. Do you guys want to go out to a club, my treat?” Fucking hell, he’s generous.

“Are you sure?” I ask, eyebrows raised.

“Yeah! You guys seem pretty awesome, and I want to get to know my new label mates.”

“Sure then!” I smile and he puts the paperwork into his bag.

“Do you mind if I take this back to my hotel room, first?” He gestures to the bag.

“Not a problem.”

“Cool, it’s only two blocks away. You can come with me and wait out in the lobby.”

We do exactly that. We go to the hotel, he drops off his bag in his room, we wait, he comes back and we head for one of the many clubs on the strip.

Pete makes sure we have a crazy ass time and we don’t say no. How could we!?


End file.
